Recrudescence
by impossiblepluto
Summary: "Why did you do that?" Mac asks into the darkness of the room, not expecting a response. "I did it for you."


No one would ever accuse Jack Dalton of being quiet.

Words come easily and he has a propensity to ramble and rattle on any topic that enters his head. That talent for rambling has saved his life more than once. Words are a weapon, a distraction, a way to jumpstart Mac's brain when it stalls. His Texas drawl easy on the ears, and his nana taught him how to talk with people. He's a natural conversationalist. Normally, he would be chatting away on their flight home.

So, it's not really fair of him to wish his team would just _shut up_ for five minutes. That's all he's asking. Except that he's not asking, because that would beg questions, which would lead to more talking and defeat the whole point of asking for quiet in the first place.

Instead he clenches his jaw, grits his teeth and bears it.

On the brightside they are moments from landing. He just has to hold on a little longer. He's survived worse.

Speaking of bright, the sunlight streaming through the windows hurts. Like Mac has stuck his little red Swiss army knife through his eyes, right into his brain and is twisting. Except Mac would never do that. Even if Jack asked, which right now, seems like a request he should consider because then he would be out of his misery. But if Jack ever suggested something like that, even in jest, Mac's eyes would get that wounded, haunted look and Jack can't be responsible for putting that look on his kid's face. So, he would never ask him to do that.

The plane bounces against the tarmac and Jack feels a flush rush through him, head to toe, which initially, seems like an improvement from the aching chills he's had for the last two hours. Except that he's too hot now, and he worries, as he swallows convulsively, that for the first time in his life, he might be airsick. Would it still be airsick if they're already on the ground? Mac would probably know. He's not going to ask though, because that too, would lead to more questions, and more conversations and he's just really not up for that right now.

He just needs to keep his head down, eyes closed and mouth shut. Emphasis on mouth shut. He's not going to be sick.

He hopes he can get through the debrief before the worst of this hits him. Before Mac notices what's going on. Because if Mac notices, that's another reason his partner's eyes will take on that wounded, haunted look, and Jack can't bear to see that. Especially when he's the source of it. Especially when he can't do anything to fix it.

His teammates bustle around him, gathering up go bags and laptops, teasing each other and discussing whether they want pizza or Chinese food, and who's turn it is to buy the beer. Jack focuses on breathing, and not being sick, and preparing to stand. He hates how weak he feels.

"Up and at 'em, big guy," Mac nudges his shoulder with a laugh. At least, Jack hasn't broadcasted to the rest of the team the fact that he feels like he's dying. Not yet. No hiding it now though.

Jack cracks an eyelid and glances up at his partner self-consciously. His lips pressed closed in a thin line, knowing Mac's going to take one look at him and...

"Oh no," Mac mumbles under his breath as he sits down next to Jack.

A cool hand presses against Jack's forehead, and his eyes nearly fill with tears at how good that feels against feverish skin. The buzz of conversation stops. He can hear Riley and Bozer questioning Mac, their voices concerned, but he doesn't respond to them.

Slowly their voices fade out.

"Do you have your meds?"

Jack swallows hard. "At home." He says with regret and closes his eye again. Mac's hand cups against the back of Jack's neck.

"Can you make it that far, or do we need to go to medical?" Mac's voice low in his ear.

"I'm good, hoss," Jack says quietly. "Just need a minute then I'll head home. I can manage."

"Yeah, cause you'd let me get away with that," Mac mutters under his breath, and Jack can almost hear the eyeroll. The idea of rolling his eyes makes his stomach flip.

"We can't both miss the debrief," Jack insists. He doesn't want to draw attention, just wants to quietly pretending nothing is wrong.

"Matty will have to understand. I'm taking you home," Mac slides Jack's arm around his shoulder, grips the back of Jack's belt and prepares to hoist him up. "You ready?"

Jack groans. "Yeah, lets do it." Even with his eyes closed the plane spins when he stands. After a moment to regain his balance, he opens his eyes to slits again. "Where's uh-" with one hand Jack mimes typing on a keyboard.

"Probably waiting outside," Mac says. "I sent them ahead, but I doubt they went far."

Jack grimaces.

"They're just worried about you, Jack."

"I'd prefer they didn't see me like this. It's bad enough that you have," Jack says. He feels Mac's grip on him tighten. He shouldn't have added that last part. "How are they supposed to trust me to protect them when they've seen me so weak I can't stand."

"Even superman has his kryptonite."

Jack's eyes scrunch more tightly closed when they exit the plane. He knows, logically, that he's been in worse pain and more sick before, but right now the direct rays from the sun are excruciating. He feels Mac slip a pair on sunglasses on his face. It's not enough, but it helps.

Jack can count on one hand the number of times Mac's driven the GTO. Honestly, he can count the number of times Mac's driven any vehicle when Jack's been conscious, and not bleeding out, on two hands. That's only a mild exaggeration.

It's just that Jack likes to drive. And Mac has a tendency to get distracted. Give Mac a mission though, pursuit driving or evasion, or driving a bleeding out Jack to the nearest medical center and Mac's driving skills are second to none. Or second only to Jack's.

It still takes him a second to hand the keys over. Mostly because he just wants to go home, and wallow in private. He doesn't want to subject Mac to his misery. Not when the kid is already carrying around enough guilt. And Jack knows this is going to get worse before it gets better.

The drive is both entirely too long, and too short. The rocking motion of the car wrecking havoc with his tenuous control over his nausea. He's finally positioned himself against the cool window in such a way that he might be able to drift off for a few minutes, when Mac pulls up in front of his building.

The stairs are a challenge. He will reluctantly admit, if only to himself, that he probably wouldn't have made it without Mac's help. It's the worst three-legged race Jack's ever been a part of, a stumbling gait and they're both lucky they don't end up on the ground. Maybe next time, he'll stock his meds at Mac's and curl up in the guest room. No stairs to contend with. He hopes there's not a next time, but that hope has been misplaced before.

He hates this feeling of helplessness.

To his dismay he hears Bozer and Riley's hushed voices following them up the stairs and into the apartment.

"Bozer, medicine cabinet," there's a slight inflection in Mac's voice, looking for confirmation. Jack nods and Mac continues. "Hydroxychloroquin. It's in a blister packet." He instructs Bozer on what to look for as he pulls Jack into the bedroom.

Jack has a vague thought that he hopes Riley didn't follow them into the bedroom as Mac helps him strip down to a tee shirt and boxers, but he can't waste time worrying about that. And comfort of his bed chases away any remaining coherent thoughts.

He didn't even hear Bozer enter the room but Mac pops a pill into his open hand, then presses the cool glass to his lips, steadying shaking hands so he can take a sip. The last reserves of Jack's strength gone, and he falls back bonelessly against the pillows.

Mac tucks the blankets around Jack's shoulders. Jack doesn't know why Mac bothers, he'll be sweating again shortly, but for now it feels good against the chills that are shaking him. Blackout curtains rustle as Mac pulls them closed, the room sinks into blissful darkness.

"Why did you do that?" He hears Mac ask quietly.

Same question. Same answer. A choice Jack would make again and again, without a second thought. A decision maybe even clearer now than it was then. A gamble he was willing to take on himself, but never on Mac.

"I did it for you."

* * *

_Jack slaps a mosquito buzzing around his ear. "Gotcha, ya bugger." He readjusts his position, scanning the lush landscape of the jungle through his scope. Movement in the trees grabs his attention and he adjusts his stance, prepared for anything when a chattering monkey Tarzans into view. He almost had to tell his nephew he shot Curious George. _

_"How much longer, Mac?" _

_"What are you like on roadtrips?" Mac asks absently as his fingers twist colorful wires of the explosives he's setting up. "I'm not finished yet."_

_"Oh, we should definitely take a roadtrip. Vegas bro-cation." _

_"It was less than a minute ago that you were complaining about the heat, and now you're suggesting we go to Vegas?"_

_"Dry heat, Mac. None of this jungle humidity, where the air is so thick I'm practically swimming in it. Bro-cation sounds too frat boy though. Man-cation sounds dumb. Don't worry, I'll think of something."_

_Mac rolls his eyes but doesn't respond. Jack has a point about the humidity, but he's not wasting his breath with that discussion, or what they're going to call their mythical vacation, as if they'd ever get the time off for a roadtrip. A bright plume of blood red feathers flutter overhead, squawking in protest at the agents' invasion of their home deep in the jungle. _

_Might as well take in the scenery and wildlife; this is probably the closest they'll ever get to a vacation._

_"Hey Mac," Jack says slowly._

_"It'll go faster if you stop asking me how long this is going to take," Mac can't keep the edge out of his voice. He's hot, tired, thirsty, and very, very done with Jack taking potshots at how he's even slower as a retired bomb nerd than he was in the Army._

_"No, hoss, something ain't right here. My spidey sense is tingling somethin' fierce." Jack says. _

_Mac raises his head and glances around. Nothing immediately jumps out at him as a concern, but he trusts Jack's judgment. _

_"Two minutes," Mac promises._

_"Yeah, okay," Jack reluctantly agrees, "just keep your eyes peeled and your head down."_

_Mac resists the urge to throw a salute back at his former Overwatch. He's moments from blowing this munitions dump when there's a rustle from behind him. Mac freezes. _

_And Jack knows his partner well enough to recognize the minute change in his posture. "You got a bogey?"_

_"Around my seven, eight o'clock?" _

_Jack's eyes furiously scan the surrounding area, but the vegetation too thick and overgrown to see much of anything. _

_"I'm going to shorten the timer, so no one has a chance to disarm it."_

_"Just get out of there, Mac." _

_Mac slowly backs away from his handiwork, surveying the area as he moves from the blast zone. _

_"Come on, Mac, hurry up," Jack coaches. _

_The jungle has gone silent, the chattering monkeys, cawing from the parrots, even the mosquitoes stopped buzzing, waiting, and watching._

_"DROP!" _

_Mac instantly follows the command. After all these years, it's second nature._

_The silence is broken with the steady pop of gunfire and chaos erupts. Jack quickly returns fire. Mac's arms cover his head, and he starts to bellycrawl backwards out of the line of fire. _

_"Get out of there, Mac!" Jack yells. "I got you covered."_

_Mac makes it to his feet, still tucked into a crouch, but moving faster now._

_He's almost to the treeline when the ground shakes, intense white hot heat brushes against his skin, and his body is airborne. He hits the ground for the second time in less than a minute, but this time it's not his choice._

_A rush of air from his lungs. Mac lies on the ground staring at treetops as his body tries to come back online, to remember how to breathe. _

_The mosquitoes are buzzing with a ferocity now. _

_He closes his eyes as pain receptors come back first. A shuddering gasp next, his lungs protest against the inflow of oxygen and spasm. An insistent tapping against his face, and a demand that he open his eyes. His vision is blurry. The ground feels like it dips and sways beneath him. _

_Jack's hand against his face, peeling back an eyelid._

_"Hey, stop," Mac protests, his own voice sounds muffled and far away. He tries to push Jack's hand away, but misses, connecting with only air. _

_"Stay still, bud," Jack directs, his hands brush through Mac's hair and against his scalp, assessing, cataloguing, down his neck and the alignment of his spine. _

_Mac is still taking short shallow breaths, and each one aches. Jack's fingers palpate across ribs, searching for deformities. "Take a deep breath in for me, hoss." _

_"I can't," he pants, groaning when Jack's hands press against a tender spot. _

_Jack looks up suddenly. "We gotta go, Mac." Jack's hands grasp his and are pulling him upright; ignoring his protests. He swallows a cry of pain. His vision turns dark as he makes it to his feet._

_The world is upside down and spinning when he opens his eyes. He wishes he hadn't. It takes him a minutes to realize he's hanging over Jack's shoulder. They're moving at a jarring clip. Jack's shoulder digging into his abdomen with every step. Then he's coughing and retching, and world is right side up again, but that's almost worse. He nearly faceplants on the jungle floor._

_Bitter acidic bile burns his esophagus. _

_Warm hands on his back, rubbing comforting circles. Jack is in front of him, pulling down on a delicate lower eyelid. Mac flinches against the light. "Tell me what's going on, hoss." Jack's voice sounds far away. _

_It's not mosquitoes buzzing, his ears are still ringing. _

_It's so hot. His skin is sticky with sweat. _

_Jack pulling him forward. He stumbles around vines and roots. Jack catching him, holding him upright. _

_Day blends into night. _

_"What about ex-fil, Jack?"_

_"They're coming buddy. Just have to hold on a little longer." Jack's voice is strained._

_Night back into day._

_His arms around Jack's neck, holding on tightly, as Jack stumbles over uneven terrain. Birds screeching. Jack curses, as his arms shake with exertion._

_It's dark again. Or the thick canopy overhead is obscuring the sun. He can't be sure._

_Sweat drips down his back. Ex-fil. Why haven't they reached ex-fil?_

_Jack will know what to do. Jack can fix this. _

_The sun filters through the trees. Blue skies, green leaves spin overhead. _

_"I don't understand," Mac says. "Are we still on a mission?"_

_Jack's worried eyes. _

_"Here, swallow this, Mac," Jack coaxes. He's always waking Mac and forcing him to drink. Encouraging him to swallow pills. It's been too many days. They shouldn't still be in the jungle. They should be at home. Jack reassures him, tell him that it's fine, just hold on a little longer. _

_He's shaking when he wakes again. Jack's strong arms supporting him. It's funny, he doesn't feel cold. How can he be cold in the jungle? But the tremors don't abate. Jack is wrapped around him, holding him tightly. Jack's skin hot. It's almost too hot, but Mac still feels like he's trembling, so he grasps Jack's arm and holds on. _

_Mac struggles against the strong arms tightening around him, holding him steady. Fighting against the warm hand pressing against his mouth._

_"Shh, shh, easy hoss," Jack shushes. "Gotta stay real still. Stay real quiet." Jack's mouth brushes against the shell of his ear, his voice low. Mac obeys the directions, trusting Jack._

_His head is muzzy. He can't think. He hates this feeling._

_New hands, pulling him from Jack. Separating them. Mac yells at unfamiliar faces. Claws at the hands he doesn't recognize. Holding him down. He struggles. They pull at his clothes and he fights harder. _

_Then he's floating, drifting. _

_"Agent MacGyver," a gentle voice calls. _

_He's in a bed. It's not soft. The air is cool, temperate. He feels clean. His eyes spring open._

_"Jack!" _

_His partner is sick. It was Jack shivering in the heat of the jungle. Not him. _

_Jack lies on a cooling blanket, face flushed with fever, thrashing, fighting an unseen foe with weak tired limbs., calling out for Mac._

_Mac catches his hand easily, and holds on, gently rubbing his thumb across Jack's knuckles. Trying to offer comfort. It's not his strong suit. But he thinks this is what Jack would do for him. _

_The explosion was over a week ago, and Mac's head is only just starting to clear. He's slowly piecing together fragmented memories. How Jack carried him, protected him, made sure that he ate and drank, while Jack grew progressively weaker. He realizes before anyone else what Jack must have done for him._

_He face blanches with guilt._

_Jack's restless movement slow. His fever breaks and Mac thinks that maybe, finally, this nightmare is over. That his mind will quiet and Jack will sleep a healing, restful sleep_

_"Why did you do that?" Mac asks into the darkness of the room, not expecting a response._

_"I did it for you."_

* * *

Mac closes the door to Jack's bedroom, attempting to give the older man some quiet and much desired privacy. At least from the rest of the team. Mac plans to stay for the duration, as he always does.

He may not have gotten much in the way of nurturing after the age of five, but Jack's made it his mission to make up for that in the last few years. Jack proves time and again that wouldn't leave Mac. Mac's not about to leave Jack.

Riley is sitting on the couch, brow furrowed as she reads intently from her rig. It's a testament to how worried she is that she's not even protesting the fact that Bozer is practically in her lap to see the screen.

Her face is pinched when she looks up, like she can't believe what she's reading. "Malaria?"

Mac nods as he sinks into one of the stadium chairs in Jack's living room.

"Like a relapse?" Bozer asks, still reading from Riley's rig.

"Recrudescence," Mac corrects, rubbing his forehead. Then noticing his friends' confused faces and Riley's finger's flying over the keyboard to start another search, continues. "Basically, yeah. It stays dormant in the blood stream at undetectable levels, sometimes for years before it resurfaces."

"Do you have it too?" Bozer asks worried at the lines of stress on Mac's face.

"No," Mac sighs. "Thanks to Jack."

"I know Jack is your self-proclaimed bodyguard, but I doubt even he could beat up malaria and keep you safe from it," Riley frowns. "What happened?"

"What always happens, a mission gone wrong," Mac says, his eyes glaze over as he finds himself lost in a memory that even after all this time remains hazy at best. "We were supposed to hike in, blow a munitions dump, hike out. Except that our contact got greedy, sold us out. I got caught in the explosion. Jack dragged me miles through the jungle but we were still too late and missed our ex-fil. Our comms were damaged, no one even knew if we were alive. We had enough antimalarials for about a week, only we were there a lot longer. I wasn't aware enough to keep track of what was going on, and Jack fed me his meds." Mac shakes his head, freeing himself from the past. "So, yeah, my bodyguard found a way to protect me from malaria, too."

"Is he okay?" Riley asks, her fingers nervously twisting her rings. "Does he need a hospital?"

"He doesn't want one. And this," Mac points his thumb over his shoulder towards the bedroom, "this is nothing, yet. I'll keep an eye on him. Hopefully, now that he's got his meds in him it won't be too bad." Mac runs a hand through his hair.

Bozer stands from his seat. He's read enough about the symptoms of malaria that he's pretty sure he's having some sympathy chills and hot flashes. "Can we help?"

"Maybe a grocery run, but otherwise no. We'll be okay."

"We're family too, Mac," Riley says, surprised by how shaken she is to see Jack so visibly sick, and how much she wants to be there for him.

Mac can't meet their eyes. He feels like he's betraying Jack's sacred trust, but he thinks his friends need to understand. "Jack's seen some things, he's done some things. I don't even know everything, but when he has a fever, his mind makes him relive it."

Two pairs of brown eyes, filled with concern and uncertainty stare back at him.

"I will make him go to a hospital if it gets too bad," Mac promises. He's struck by how close this team has become, by how connected they are. Drawn together by different scenarios and circumstances, but staying together by choice. Jack is right, this team has become a family. "We'll be okay."

Bozer glances at Riley, waiting for her opinion. Riley looks between her boys and the door to Jack's bedroom. "Make us a list. And call us if you need anything," she says reluctantly.

"And regular check ins," Bozer adds to their list of demands. "On both you and Jack."

Riley points at Bozer, nodding in agreement. "We will not hesitate to camp out here if we determine that you need help or aren't taking care of yourself too."

"Or you miss your check ins."

"And we'll tell Jack when he's better."

"Oooh, yeah, that's a good one," Bozer says.

It takes about three more rounds of reassurances on Mac's part, and several more threats... expressed concerns... from Riley and Bozer before the pair reluctantly leave.

Mac eases the door to the bedroom opened, not sure what he'll find behind it, but Jack is, thankfully, still in the bed. One leg is kicked out from under the covers, and a fine sheen of sweat covers his face and neck.

It's going to be a long couple of days, and he sets about to prep for the worst, while hoping this time it will be mild.

Mac makes no attempts to be quiet as he putters around the apartment, deliberate movements and surefooted steps, letting Jack know exactly where he is at any moment. Attempting to sneak around the apartment would instantly put Jack on alert, his mind processing the stealthy movement as a threat.

Jack twists and turns restlessly.

It throws Mac to see Jack looking like this. For all the jokes, he knows Jack isn't really superman, even though the number of times Jack has rescued him, just in the nick of time, is astounding. He knows Jack's human. It's still disconcerting to see Jack felled by an illness.

Jack who is always so hale and hearty, and larger than life, looks drawn and exhausted. His skin usually tan from all the time he spends outside, and now he's pale. All color completely washed out of his face.

Despite what he reassures Bozer and Riley, Mac is concerned. He wonders if he should have insisted on a quick stop at medical, just to be sure. Jack probably would have made him go, if the roles were reversed.

Jack is better at this caregiver role. He always seems to know exactly what to do; exactly what Mac needs.

Jack has never failed him, but he feels like he's failing Jack. It's his fault Jack is sick, again. He still can't understand the decisions Jack made during their time in the jungle. The risks he took to keep Mac safe.

* * *

_Jack sets his sights on the muzzle flash in the trees and squeezes the trigger. His bullet hitting home. _

_"Hurry up, kiddo," Jack coaches through comms, firing again, watching for answering gunfire, and covering Mac as his long legs eat up jungle floor. He is nearly to the treeline and once he's safely out of the line of fire, Jack will be able to breathe again. _

_The ground shakes, and there's a sudden flash, this time not from the muzzle of a gun, but the explosives Mac rigged._

_Mac is in the air, arms scrambling for purchase, anything to break his fall. He hits the ground hard and doesn't move. It takes everything in Jack not to burst from his sniper's nest and check on the kid. He has to be sure there's no one left laying in wait for him to break his cover. _

_Cautiously, he moves forward, using the thick overgrowth as cover, creeping towards Mac. The kid hasn't moved. _

_"Mac," he hisses, close enough now that the kid should be able to hear him and respond if he can, but still too far away to get his hands on him and assess for himself. He can see Mac's chest rising and falling, but it's irregular. His eyes scan the surrounding area. The sounds of the jungle coming back online, no movement in the trees. He's waited as long as he's going to wait. _

_He drops to his knees next to Mac, swinging his rifle onto his back, in easy reach if he needs it in a hurry. He pats Mac's face gently, and the kid moans. Carefully, he pulls back an eyelid to see the kids pupils. They're blown but reactive. _

_"Hey, stop," Mac's hands swing out, batting at Jack's hands but missing by a mile. Jack catches them easily, holding them gently until the kid quiets down again. _

_"Stay still, bud." Jack glances up again to see if the noise and movement has drawn any attention. They still seem to be in the clear. _

_There's blood in Mac's hair, not a lot but enough for Jack to be concerned, especially since Mac is less than coherent. He runs his hands across Mac's head, and down his neck. _

_Mac's breathing is still shallow, but looks better than a few minutes ago. Probably had the wind knocked out of him, but still Jack pushes aside his shirt to look for deformities, running his hands along ribs, and asking Mac to take a deep breath._

_A snap of a branch, Jack can't tell where it's coming from, but it can't be anything good. Jack pulls Mac upright._

_"Stop it," Mac protests again, swallowing a cry of pain. _

_Jack shushes him. It's apparent that Mac isn't going to stay on his feet without significant help. In the two steps he's taken, he's already crashing through the underbrush, making his presence known to anyone who might be nearby, and leaving a trail a mile wide._

_Reluctantly, Jack scoops Mac up and places him over his shoulder. He can't carry him bridal style, not and reach his rifle if they need it, and Mac isn't coherent enough for a piggyback ride. While Mac's ribs are tender, Jack didn't feel anything displaced that might cause a bleeding issue in this position. He'll check him out again when they're safely back at ex-fil. _

_But it's not that easy. It's never that easy._

"Jack!" Mac's voice is firm, demanding. "You need to drink this. You need to replenish your fluids."

Jack twists his head. "Can't. Gotta save it. Gonna need it."

"We're home, Jack. We're safe. We don't have to ration the water anymore." Jack still resists. "Drink it or I'll make you."

"Bossy."

A half-laugh, half- huff. "Yeah, well, I learned from the best."

_It was a treacherous, physically demanding hike without a hundred sixty pounds of Mac in his arms. Its twice the challenge now._  
_Jack has to stop for Mac as often as he does for himself._

_"Easy, hoss," Jack rubs comforting circles against Mac's back. "You got your bell rung pretty good there. Take it easy." _

_Mac retches until there's nothing left to come back up. He doesn't say much. That worries Jack. Between the two of them, Jack is the talker, but Mac can hold his own, and usually does. _

"His fever's holding steady, but he's drinking for me," he hears Mac's reassuring voice, but feels confused by the one sided conversation. "Yeah, I promise. I'll call tonight."

"Who's fever, Mac?"

"Yours, big guy," Mac places a wet washcloth against Jack's forehead.

Jack frowns. "Are you sure?"

"That you have a fever? Yeah, pretty sure."

_Jack examines Mac's eyes again. Mac flinches when he pulls down the lower lid. "Can you tell me what's going on, hoss?" Mac squints at Jack's mouth. Reading lips, Jack realizes, and feels relieved that the lack of communication isn't only from the concussion he's sustained but from the ringing in his ears from being so close to the blast site. _

_The mosquitoes are merciless. "Man, it's like being the main course at a bug buffet!" Jack says, slapping at the insects that buzz in his ears._

"Can't you feel 'em, man? They're everywhere. They're eating me alive!"

"No bugs, Jack. They're gone now."

"Nah, I can still feel 'em crawling all over me."

_Despite the rigorous pace Jack sets for himself, he knows he's not going to get them back in their time window for ex-fil. The foliage is so dense, satellites won't be able to pick them up either. This mission is going from worse to disastrous. _

"Jack, where are you going?"

"Gotta get to ex-fil. Gotta hurry, hoss. Can you stand?"

_He pulls out the blister packets of antimalarials and counts them, though he doesn't need to. It's not even a question in his mind. He doesn't have to weigh pros and cons or risks and benefits. He removes only one pill from the foil packaging._

_"Hey, Mac," Jack taps the younger man's face. "Wake up, we need to get moving again soon."_

_Mac frowns as he wakes, looking sleepily at his surroundings. "Where are we going?" Mac's memory is spotty, missing whole chunks of time, and forgetting the answers to questions he's already asked. It worries Jack. _

_"Just heading for ex-fil, bud," Jack says hoping that Mac won't ask too many other questions. Jack hands him a pill. "Gotta take this, okay?" _

_Mac obediently swallows the medication, but frowns trying to remember the mission. Jack can read the frustration in Mac's body language. "What about ex-fil, Jack?"_

_Jack's smile is pained. "They're coming buddy, just have to hold on a little bit longer." _

"You have to swallow the pills, Jack. Please," Mac's voice begging.

The kid doesn't beg. He argues. He logics. He gets damn annoying, but he doesn't beg. Still, Jack can't take the meds.

"I can't. We won't have enough to make it to ex-fil."

"We're home, Jack. I promise we're home."

Jack shakes his head sadly, reaching his hand out to place on Mac's forehead. "The concussion is making you confused, bud. It's okay. I'm gonna get you home."

"You're sick, Jack. You have a fever."

"I'm not taking the pills. There aren't enough and I can't let you get sick. I'll be fine."

"I won't take mine, unless you take yours," Mac crosses his arms. The kid's getting feisty.

_Jack focuses on putting one foot ahead of the other. Supporting Mac's weigh, steadying his loping, asymmetrical gait as he crashes through the underbrush. They're both slowing. _

_"Gotta get to ex-fil," Mac pants, mumbles disjointed phrases on repeat. "Jack will know what to do." _

_The complete and utter trust in Mac's voice is like a dagger in Jack's heart. There's so little he can do. No way for him to save this mission. Maybe no way for him to save Mac. _

_The clearing is empty when they reach it days later. It was a ridiculous hope that ex-fil would just be cooling their heels waiting for whenever they stumbled out of the jungle. DXS probably doesn't even know if they're still alive. He wonders if anyone is even looking for them. _

_Jack tries to pretend the ache in his joints and stiffness in his muscles is from overuse, hauling his partner for miles over uneven terrain. That the pounding in his head is only dehydration. That the sweat that drips down his neck and back, soaking his shirt is just exertion in the humid jungle heat. But Jack's never been very good at lying to himself. _

_He figures he has another day, maybe a day and a half, where he'll still be useful to Mac. He sets up a makeshift camp. Two days of meds left. Enough water purification tablets for maybe three days if they continue to ration them. _

_Shivers wrack his body. It's not fair, feeling like he's freezing to death when the air around him is stifling. He pulls Mac into his arms, holding him close, arms wrapped around him tight, as if he's trying to suck the heat from him to warm himself. _

Mac's holding onto him as he shakes. It hurts so badly. Every muscle trembling. It's so cold. Everything aches. Mac's hand runs back and forth over his head. Mac quietly murmurs in his ear. He can't quite makes out the words.

_Jack startles awake. Voices. Coming closer. Searching. He failed. They were tracked and now the bad guys are here to finish them off. His arms tighten around Mac. The kid starts to wake, struggling against Jack's grip, starting to protest._

_Jack's hand clamps across Mac's mouth. "Shh, shh, easy hoss," Jack shushes, his voice low. He presses his lips up against Mac's ear to be heard. "Gotta stay real still. Stay real quiet." Mac's struggles stop, and Jack sighs in relief. Maybe, just this once they'll be lucky._

_A shout squashes that hope. _

_Jack fights. He doesn't have much strength left, but he lashes out at figures who try to pull Mac from his grip._

"Let him go!" Jack yells, thrashing violently against the bed. Blankets twisting around him, holding him down, trapping him and causing him more distress. "You're not taking him!"

_Mac follows his lead, yelling his head off. _

"Jack, it's alright. It's okay." Mac tries to get close, but Jack's arms are flailing and even out of his head, those fists pack a powerful punch.

_He failed. All these years, and missions and promises and he failed Mac when it mattered most. Mac is ripped from his arms. _

_Jack bites and claws, struggles and fights but it's not enough. His strength is sapped. And these foes fight dirty, because he's pretty sure, even in his feverish haze, he just felt a needle pierce his hip and he's launched into a whirl of nightmares._

* * *

The room is still dark when Jack wakes; the blackout curtains making it impossible to tell how much time has passed. There's a cool cloth on his forehead, and it feels luxurious. He shifts against the sheets, stiff with sweat, and that illusion of luxury flees.

Mac is reclining against the headboard, dozing. A smile twitches on Jack's lips at the sight. His hand still clasped in Mac's relaxed grip. Mac's thumb over Jack's knuckles, where it had fallen still mid-stroke. It's reminiscent of waking in Phoenix Med after that disastrous mission, when he found out that Mac didn't leave him after they arrived Stateside.

He remembers bits and pieces over the last few days. Mac helping him to sit up and drink something, forcing meds down his throat. Holding him as he shivered. Bathing his face and chest as his fever soared, and ice packed around him. His joints still ache, and his muscles feel tender, but the worst seems to be over.

He feels guilty that the kid probably ran himself ragged over the last few days. And he wonders what new nightmares he revealed in his fevered ramblings.

Mac must have felt Jack's gaze on him because his eyes open a moment later.

"Hey," Jack's voice is raspy from disuse. He hopes its disuse and not from screaming, but the kid doesn't look overly distressed, so he thinks, he hopes, any hallucinations were mild.

Mac rolls his stiff neck and shoulders, then reaches out for Jack's forehead. "I think your fever finally broke." Mac releases a weary sigh.

Jack nods. "How long's it been?"

Mac leans over to see the clock on the nightstand. "About four days since we got back. Not sure how long you felt this coming on though," his voice mildly chiding.

Jack should have known Mac would realize his symptoms had started long before he began showing them. He, at least, had the good sense to look chagrin. "We were mid mission and I didn't have my meds with me."

"Hi, I'm MacGyver, I do a lot of improvising."

"I thought I could hold out, make it home."

Mac's blue eyes cloud over. "Then disappear for a few days, and not tell me what happened. Try to make it through a relapse by yourself?"

"To be fair, that first time, I didn't realize it was going to be iridescent malaria." His mispronunciation doesn't work as the distraction he'd hoped it would be.

"You wouldn't have let me do this alone. You always make sure I'm taken care of. That's why you keep having to deal with this because you put my health ahead of your own. I just don't understand why you would do that? Why would you take that risk?"

"Why'd you come back for me when I stepped on that bomb?"

"That's different."

"Why?"

"Because it's me."

"I'm not sure how to explain this, bud, but I'd do it again."

Mac blinks. "Why?" He whispers again. "Why would you do that?"

"Because it's you. Because this world, my life, is a better place with you in it," Jack's eyes imploring Mac to understand. "Because I would do anything to keep you healthy and whole."

Mac's fingers twist the bedsheets. Jack notes a faint sheen in his eyes when he looks up again.

"You should probably drink something." Mac reaches over to the nightstand where he has a pitcher and glass. He helps Jack hold the glass. After half a sip Jack pulls back sputtering.

"I think the juice went bad, man," Jack's face twisting in displeasure at the taste.

"We were out of gatorade, so I made my own," Mac says, sniffing experimentally at the glass. "You didn't protest it earlier."

"When I was out of my head with fever?"

"Bozer's dropping by some more supplies this afternoon," Mac says, pouring his own glass of the concoction and taking a sip. He rolls it around in his mouth for a second before swallowing. "It's not that bad. And I made sure that it has the right dosage of glucose and electrolytes for your body weight and how much you were sweating." He looks unsure of himself now.

Jack feels his heart melt a little bit at Mac's own style of caregiving. He doesn't have to do it often, but he attacks it with the same science and logic he does all of his problems. Jack has to stop himself from cooing over the kid and embarrassing him.

"You did good, kid. And it wasn't that bad," Jack says reaching out for the glass, schooling his face to give nothing away as he swallows another vile sip. "Probably better for me than gatorade. Just a surprise when I was expecting orange juice."

"I could probably give it more of an orange flavor," Mac says, already twisting the problem over in his mind to find a solution. "But," he points a warning finger at Jack. "I'm expecting that I won't have to make this again."

Jack smiles. "I'll do my best, bud." His hand clasps the back on Mac's neck and give a light squeeze.

"And next time that I don't mention something right away, I get a free pass on the lecture," Mac bargains.

Jack tugs on Mac's arm, pulling him down against the pillows. He can see how exhausted Mac is, and Jack is ready to hunker down for another nap. "No, I think we should both promise right here and now, that going forward, we're not hiding things from each other."

Mac yawns. "That's not fair. We should back date that promise a few days."

"Why? You gonna lecture me?" Jack scoffs.

"Complete with a power point, and a written exam." Mac threatens. "Spelling counts."

"Dang, Mac, you're vicious. Have a little sympathy for my poor fever soaked brain."


End file.
